Possible Treason
“I can’t believe that the Steward is throwing a party at a time like this,” Jaune grumbled, as the party made its way towards the palace.
“Some might say that a time like this is the perfect time to throw a party,” Lady Nikos declared as they approached the broad path that led directly to the palace doors. Jaune could see other revellers moving ahead of them, ladies in gowns of various Mistralian fashions, gentlemen in a mixture of Valish-Atlesian suits or else more traditional togas and kimono. He didn’t see any of the ladies wearing Valish or Atlesian style gowns, but he had to admit that he wasn’t paying very much attention as they shuffled forwards down the way illuminated by the lanterns that lined the roadside, casting their golden glow upon the ground.
“With all due respect, my lady, who would say that?” Jaune asked, trying to keep the sharpness out of his voice. Lady Nikos was a keen observer of the people of her class, but that didn’t make her responsible for their follies or their faults. It just meant that she understood them a lot better than he did.
“The Council, and Mistral itself, has been sorely rocked in these recent months,” Lady Nikos reminded him, as though Jaune might have forgotten if she hadn’t brought it up. “The threats of the grimm and the bandits, compounded by what seemed to them like the greater threat posed by Pyrrha’s popularity-”
“A phantom threat, only,” Pyrrha said. She was dressed in a red chiton, with a pair of golden brooches at the shoulders and a pearl choker with a large emerald set in the centre of it tight around her neck. Golden bracelets, likewise set with emeralds, gleamed upon her wrists.
“Yet phantoms, though they are not real, will yet frighten children,” Swift Foot observed. “They kept me trembling in my bed often enough when I was young.”
“One would hope that the Councillors of the Kingdom would have more sense than children frightened of ghosts,” Pyrrha replied.
“The ghosts that frightened them were real enough,” Swift Foot pointed out. “It was only that their intent was misunderstood.”
“Indeed, Lady Swift Foot,” Lady Nikos said in good humour. “The Councillors and nobles observed Pyrrha’s rise, asked themselves ‘what would I do, had I such might and such love amongst the commons,’ and petrified themselves by the answers that confronted them.”
“You should not joke about that, mother,” Pyrrha said heavily. “It hardly seems to me to be a thing to laugh and joke about, that so many of our rulers and our great families have so lost any feeling for this kingdom and its people that they could not conceive that I and all my comrades sought nothing more than to do what was right for the sake of right… rather, it brings me close to despair.”
“Take heart, Pyrrha,” Swift Foot implored, reaching out to place a hand on Pyrrha’s arm. “You… you are not wrong, or at least you are not wholly wrong. Too many in this city are consumed by ambition, and so, they see ambition everywhere. But by underestimating yourself, such as to make it seem that you are motivated by mere common charity, such as might drive a man with lien to spare to toss some money to a beggar on the street… by lowering yourself thus, you lower also all those who are beneath you. Your nobility raises you up, but those beneath you are not dirt; rather, they are but men, while you are more than that.”
Pyrrha looked embarrassed. “That… that is very kind of you, Swift Foot.”
“I spoke not in kindness, but in honesty,” Swift Foot insisted, cutting off anything more that Pyrrha might have said. “You… you have inspired me, my lady, and many others in this house besides.”
“That’s still kind of you to say,” Jaune interrupted, “but it doesn’t change the fact that the only reason the Council or anybody else ever had to be afraid of Pyrrha is because they ascribed to her their own worst motives. And it still doesn’t change the fact that this is a terrible time to be holding a party.”
Little more than a week had passed since all the forces of Mistral had come together under the leadership of Lady Terri-Belle. Almost as much time had passed since envoys of Mistral had been despatched across the Kingdom to spread the word to the various bandit tribes that pardons and lordships and the rule of many prosperous lands were available to those who would bend the knee and serve the council. Since then, the bandit attacks had lessened but not diminished, a fact which correlated with the failure of some of the messengers to return to Mistral, and the grimm attacks hardly seemed to have let up at all. All the forces of Mistral had, at some point, sallied forth in defence of the Kingdom and its settlements: the Myrmidons to this place, the Company of the Wolf to that, the Imperial Guard to here, and Rutulian Security to there. The record of success of these disparate forces was somewhat uneven. The Myrmidons, if it was not too proud of him to say so, continued their record of success, between Pyrrha’s leadership in the field, his own judgement in the command centre and the fact they’d managed to snatch up all the best young huntsmen while no one else was looking. The Company of the Wolf had struggled more, between its smaller numbers and the fact that it had far fewer young huntsmen and far more tournament fighters, unfamiliar with the grimm. Rutulian Security had surprised Jaune - although the more he thought about it, the more he wondered why he had been surprised - by turning out to possess Atlesian-style air support, as Turnus transported his huntsmen into battle in Skyrays which rained down missile fire upon the enemy as the warriors disembarked. The effectiveness of the Imperial Guard appeared to vary depending on whether Terri-Belle was leading them, or if she had delegated that task to her sister Shining Light.
But, despite some teething problems for some forces freshly being thrown into battle, at least none of them had lost a battle. No village or town that had come under attack by grimm had been lost so long as the settlement survived long enough for help to arrive.
And apparently that was enough for the Steward of Mistral to decide that now was the perfect time to hold a party.
Does it make me a hypocrite if I complain about this while we’re on our way to this party?
A grin flashed across Swift Foot’s face. “Not wishing to downplay the seriousness of the situation, but I think that, before we interrupted her, Lady Nikos was about to explain to us why a terrible time is the perfect time for revelry.”
Jaune bowed his head. “I apologise, my lady. Please, continue.”
“There is no need to apologise; in some respects, you are right to be so incredulous,” Lady Nikos said. “But the fact is that, with all that has transpired, the Steward must show that Mistral remains strong in the face of danger, and presenting a brave face before this gathering is part of that. And besides, tonight is the night when the first bandit chieftains to take the Council’s pardon will be presented to the people as our new Shire Reeves.”
“Which is why we have to go,” Pyrrha declared. “We need to see who we might be up against.”
“And besides,” Lady Nikos added, “when all others have come, we cannot stay away.”
No, that was it, wasn’t it? That was why they had to be here, however inappropriate being here was.
And so, Jaune, Pyrrha, Swift Foot - as the Steward’s daughter, she could hardly stay away - and Lady Nikos made their way down the path lined with lanterns towards the palace.
Amidst the throng, they were ushered into the Fountain Courtyard, where the ornately armoured ceremonial guards yet stood watch around the stagnant fountain, waiting for the day when the empty throne would be filled and the waters would run clear once more.
Jaune was surprised to hear Pyrrha and himself announced as ‘Captains of the Myrmidons.’ He glanced over at Pyrrha.
Pyrrha slipped her hand into his. “You’re my partner, Jaune, my equal in everything.”
The eyes of those guests already in the courtyard, milling about the fountain and the gleaming colonnades, were turned towards Pyrrha and her party. But those gazes turned away after a moment, with people losing interest in the Myrmidon leadership and returning to whatever affairs had occupied them in the moment before. The four of them moved into the courtyard, joining the throng of notables who filled it.
“If you will pardon me, Lady Pyrrha,” Swift Foot murmured. “There is something that I must attend to.”
“Of course,” Pyrrha said. “Have fun.”
“Unlikely, but thank you anyway,” Swift Foot replied, with a slightly pained expression, before she withdrew into the crowd that now swirled all about them.
The first person to actually approach from out of the bustling throng of assembled nobles and great ones was Camilla Volsci, Turnus’ right-hand woman. She was dressed in a one-shouldered chiton of periwinkle blue, with a sash with a tiger skin pattern tied around her waist. A silver ring set with a large ruby, matching the colour of her eyes, glistened on her finger as she approached them diffidently, with a touch of uncertainty.
As she reached the party, she bowed her head. “Lady Nikos,” she said, “Lady Pyrrha.”
“Camilla,” Pyrrha replied, in a tone that was even and neutral, neither hostile nor friendly.
Camilla’s eyes flickered towards Jaune. “Mister Arc, may I beg the favour of a word with you? In private?”
“By 'in private,' you mean 'alone'?” Pyrrha asked, the neutrality of her tone disrupted by a touch of suspicion.
Camilla stiffened visibly. “Do you think that I am so lost to honour that I would murder your betrothed by treachery? Or do you perhaps think me so lost to sense that I would seek his death in the midst of the Steward’s Palace, or that I am not aware of the vengeance that would justly fall upon my head were I to do such a thing?”
Pyrrha replied. “You will forgive me if I find it a little harder to trust the honour of the House of Rutulus than I once might have.”
Camilla stared at her for a moment, back straight and proud, but after that moment passed, she sagged a little. “I understand,” she said, as the pride leaked from her tone, “but I give you my word – my word, and mine alone – that I mean no harm to you, Jaune Arc. If you will come with me… you may learn something to your advantage.”
And you can’t say it in front of everyone because…? Jaune wondered. But it occurred to him that the reason could be that people’s eyes and ears would be more likely to follow them if Pyrrha were with them.
Of course, it could be a trap, but at the same time, Camilla was right: if they wanted to murder him, there had to be better ways of doing it.
“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”
“Jaune,” Pyrrha said, her grip upon his hand tightening a little, “are you sure about this?”
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. He grinned. “And if I’m not, I’ll scream for help.”
Pyrrha chuckled. “And I’ll come running.”
“I know,” he said, and leaned forward to brush his lips lightly over hers. He turned away, letting her hand fall from his grasp. “Let’s go,” he told Camilla.
Camilla nodded. “I… I will bring him back safe and sound, or at least I will take leave of him in the state that I found him,” she vowed to Pyrrha before she turned away, walking slower than she needed to for Jaune to keep up, possibly because she didn’t want to seem to be rushing anywhere.
The night was cool. It was spring now, but the temperatures weren’t starting to rise just yet, and very few braziers had been lit in the courtyard to spread warmth. Soft music drifted through the air, mingling with the conversation of the revellers amongst whom they moved as Camilla led Jaune out to a balcony on the edge of the palace. The lights of the city glistened down below, descending the slope of the mountainside.
Since she had brought him here, Jaune had expected that Camilla would take the lead in saying whatever it was that she had to say, but she did not. She stood with her back to him, her hands resting upon the stone balcony rail, looking down at Mistral as it fell away beneath them both.
Jaune fiddled with his cufflinks idly while he waited to learn what he was doing here.
“You must forgive my reticence,” Camilla said, as a cool breeze played with her long white hair. Her vulpine ears flattened down miserably atop her head. “What I am about to tell you could be considered treachery.”
Jaune frowned. “'Could be'?”
Camilla turned to face him. “I would not call it so,” she informed him. She looked away. “But I understand that others might. Perhaps even Turnus might do so.” Her face was stricken, her melancholy clear as the moonlight fell upon her pale white skin. Her red eyes flickered towards him. “You are betrothed to Pyrrha Nikos, so I assume that you are in her confidence. Is that not so?”
“It is,” Jaune replied. “I know… everything that Pyrrha does.”
Camilla nodded. “That is well. Then the name of Salem means much to you?”
Jaune swallowed. “It means a great deal to me,” he growled, “and none of it good.”
Camilla winced as if she had been struck. “Juturna… Juturna thinks that she can use Salem to her own purposes. She is a fool, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Jaune said, his voice hoarse. “Salem’s only interest is in what Salem wants. The people who serve her… she only uses people until…”
“Until they are no longer useful,” Camilla whispered, her voice almost snatched away by the night air. “Gods, Juturna, what have you done?”
Jaune didn’t answer that. She wasn't talking to him.
Camilla looked at him. Her voice was firmer now, and more resolute. “Salem has sent two envoys to Mistral: Doctor Watts, and Chrysalis of the White Fang. Do you know them?”
“By reputation,” Jaune answered. “For better or… no, probably for better, I’ve never met either of them. But I know who they are, and I have some idea of what they’re capable of.”
“They are in our house, at this very moment,” Camilla informed him.
Jaune already knew that, but decided that it might not be a good idea to admit it. “To do what?”
“To help, allegedly,” Camilla said.
“To help with what?” Jaune demanded. “What did Juturna even get involved with Salem for in the first place?”
“For the ambitions of her brother,” Camilla admitted. “I… I should not tell you this, but… Turnus wishes to become King of Mistral. That was why he had Lionheart frustrate the Council’s response to the grimm and bandit attacks to-”
“To make the Council look weak and discredit its legitimacy,” Jaune murmured. “That’s-”
“The methods that he undertook to reach the throne are wrong, I know,” Camilla said. “I should have spoken up against them, and I regret that I did not. But… you may not believe me, but he would be a good king if he were put on the throne.”
Jaune couldn’t help but frown. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t think that a murderer and a man who abandons his friends and his people is the kind of man who ought to have supreme power over a kingdom.”
Camilla’s eyes flashed with anger. “You repeat calumnies and base slanders hurled against Turnus by his enemies. He is no murderer.”
“He’s killed sixteen people!”
“And how many people have you killed, Jaune Arc?” Camilla demanded.
Jaune was silent for a moment. He turned away from her. “Only one,” he said. “And that was in battle.”
“And Turnus has killed men in duels,” Camilla insisted. “Duels they agreed to. He did not seek them out and stab them in the back or cut their throats while they lay sleeping; they faced him fairly on the field of honour and were found wanting.”
Jaune looked at her over his shoulder. “Did he face his team upon the field of honour too?”
Camilla bowed her head. “That… Turnus had his reasons. They were… unworthy men, wretches undeserving of honourable treatment. Turnus… I do not wish to discuss my lord’s past with you any more than I would expect you to discuss your lady with me. Suffice to say that he is a valiant man, and honest, true, and honourable; fierce to his enemies, generous to his friends. He is a man of strength and vision both. He is a man… of many parts, and so many of them… wonderful.”
That last word was said with a sigh. Jaune turned, and now, it was his turn to lean upon the balcony rail, his back to the city below him. A slight smile creased his features. “Do you love him?”
Camilla blinked in surprise. A red flush coloured her cheeks. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“It takes one to know one,” Jaune told her. “I’d know that tone of voice anywhere.”
Camilla stared at him for a moment. “He… I… there is much in Turnus Rutulus to love,” she said. “It may offend your Valish sensibilities, Mister Arc, but… five of those duels were in defence of my honour, after I had been insulted on account of what I am.” Her tail twitched, leaving Jaune in little doubt as to what she meant. She hesitated. “As for his Atlesian team… Turnus invited them to come to Mistral with him during one of the vacations. I believe that Pyrrha brought you here last year, in just such a way.”
Jaune nodded. “She wanted to share her home with her new friends.”
“Turnus… he had forgotten that not all in Atlas look kindly upon the faunus,” Camilla confessed, her voice trembling. “They… toyed with my affections, they… they were not gentlemen.” She blinked, and it seemed to Jaune that he could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes, reflected in the moonlight. “How can you not love a man who is willing to kill for you and your honour? Especially when there is so much else in him to love also?”
Jaune, who was not at all sure that he would want Pyrrha to go around killing people on his behalf, said nothing to that. “So, if you love him-”
“Why does he want to marry your fiancée?”
Jaune let out a snort of laughter. “I was going to ask why you’re talking to me here tonight.”
“Oh,” Camilla said.
“But I wouldn’t mind an answer to the other one, too,” Jaune said.
Camilla covered her mouth with one hand as he chuckled. “Because… I would like to say that it is because he doesn’t know. I would like to think that one day, it will all come together in his mind, and he will look around and see that… that I’ve been there this entire time, waiting.” She sighed. “But that won’t happen, will it? The world doesn’t work that way.”
“It did for Pyrrha,” Jaune told her.
Camilla stared at him. He could see the amazement building on her face as she realised what he had just said. “You… it was not you who pursued her?”
“No,” Jaune admitted. “Pyrrha… it just took me a little while to figure it out.”
“Pyrrha Nikos,” Camilla said, “the Champion of Mistral, the Princess Without a Crown, fell in love with you, and you were the one who took a little while to realise?”
“You don’t need to say it like that,” Jaune replied, with a touch of defensiveness in his voice.
Camilla approached the balcony, coming to stand beside him but facing the other way, out towards the city. There was a touch of amusement in her voice as she said, “Perhaps I should be talking to someone a little less dense.”
Jaune shook his head. “Why are you talking to me?”
“Because you’re like me,” Camilla replied. “We are not born to this glittering world, and we are both so… so privileged to be a part of their lives.” She glanced up at him. “You do understand how lucky you are, don’t you?”
“I may be dense, but I’m not that dense,” Jaune informed her. He paused. “So what’s the answer?”
“Hmm?”
“To my question? If you love him then… why are you betraying him?”
“I would not call it a betrayal,” Camilla whispered. She fell silent, but when she spoke again her voice was stronger. “Their father was a good man. An officer of the law. One of the few honest lawmen in the recent history of this unhappy city. He… he rescued me from… I would have been sold into slavery for my rare features and my looks, but he rescued me. He took me into his house and raised me alongside his own children. He gave me everything that I could wish for… but I have not forgotten what it was like before he saved me, what it is like to be alone, to be scared, to be vulnerable. Turnus and Juturna… they do not understand that. Neither of them… they have spent their entire lives able to have things their own way, to have whatever they want, to order things as they will. I do not begrudge them that, nor do I judge them for it, but… I fear that Salem and her creatures will care nothing for wealth or noble blood.”
“You fear correct,” Jaune said. “Salem doesn’t give a damn about anything but what Salem wants.”
Camilla nodded. “I would not see Juturna hurt. When you stop Salem, she… Juturna meant no harm. She only meant to set her brother on a throne that he deserves to sit on.”
Jaune made no comment on that. “What are they planning?”
“There is a weapon under Haven Academy, did you know that?”
“I did,” Jaune said. “Do you know what kind of weapon it is?”
“No,” Camilla replied. “And neither does Lionheart.” She glanced at Jaune. “Do you know?”
“No,” Jaune lied… in part, at least. He knew that it was the Relic of Knowledge buried beneath Haven Academy, although he had no idea what, precisely, the relic was or did. “But I’m pretty sure Lionheart does.”
Camilla looked at him, frowning. “He has lied to us?”
“Do you know about Professor Ozpin?” Jaune asked.
Camilla nodded.
“Lionheart was deep in his confidence,” Jaune told her. “Ozpin had no secrets from him, and Ozpin definitely knew what the weapon underneath Haven was.” It felt a little wrong, to lie to this girl who had come to him out of the goodness of her spirit to tell him all of this, but the opportunity to sow a little discord in the enemy camp was too good to pass up.
“He lied to us,” Camilla hissed. “I will… thank you, Mister Arc, for telling me that.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Jaune said. “Can Salem’s agents get to the weapon?”
“No,” Camilla told him. “At least that is what they have told us.”
“I believe that,” Jaune informed her, feeling a sense of relief that they had not yet found the Spring Maiden; if they had, Camilla would have mentioned a new girl turning up in the house alongside Watts and Chrysalis.
“Because they need a girl,” Camilla said. “A living key to open the door?”
Jaune nodded. “Exactly. And they don’t have her yet?”
“Apparently not,” Camilla said softly. “Do you know where she is?”
“No,” Jaune answered, honestly. “What else are they doing? Are they behind the disappearances of Manjushage?”
“No,” Camilla declared firmly. “Turnus would have no part in that, and neither would Juturna.”
He was willing to let them be attacked by grimm without lifting a finger to stop them, Jaune thought, but held his peace on that.
“Doctor Watts investigated Manjushage himself,” Camilla informed Jaune. “He found evidence of powerful energy weapon discharge, far more powerful than anything in service with the Atlesian forces short of the main cannon on a cruiser, which it cannot be because the angle of the shot was too shallow by far; any ship would have had to be no more than thirty feet off the ground. It baffled him.”
I’d like to know how magic stacks up against Atlesian energy weapons, Jaune thought.
“Can you save them?” Camilla demanded, turning to face Jaune. “Can you defeat these agents of Salem and save my… can you do it?”
Jaune looked down at her. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we’ll try. We won’t hurt either of them if it can possibly be avoided.”
Camilla looked visibly relieved to hear it. Her whole body sagged forwards. “You are a good man, Jaune Arc,” she said. “I believe that you are… worthy of Pyrrha Nikos.”
And you deserve better than Turnus Rutulus, Jaune thought. But in the end, all he said was, “You’re pretty great yourself, Camilla Volsci. On behalf of Pyrrha and myself, you have our thanks.”
Swift Foot had not wanted to leave Pyrrha’s side, but she had no real choice. Terri-Belle would expect a report from her. She hoped that it would only be Terri-Belle whom she had to report to and not their father.
There was always a chance that Terri-Belle might listen.
And so, Swift Foot found a secluded spot in the corner of the room, away from any of the other guests, mostly hidden behind a couple of gleaming columns, listening to the gentle music as she waited for her elder sister to find her.
Terri-Belle found her soon enough, and Swift Foot was a little surprised to see her elder sister dressed in a Valish-style tuxedo, with a white bow tie and a turquoise cummerbund wrapped around her waist.
“Sister,” Swift Foot murmured, “you’re-”
“Don’t look at me like that, you know I can’t stand dressing up,” Terri-Belle growled under her breath. “Dressing up in dresses especially.”
“Yes,” Swift Foot conceded, “and yet somehow you’re the most uniquely dressed woman in the room.”
“I’m here for your report, not your critique of my dress sense,” Terri-Belle declared sharply and a little defensively.
Swift Foot nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry, sister.”
“It’s fine,” Terri-Belle replied brusquely, but not unkindly. “So, what have you to report? What progress have you made?”
Now we come to it, Swift Foot thought. She took a deep breath. “None,” she admitted. “But that’s because… Terri-Belle, I’m not even sure that I should be making progress.”
“What?” Terri-Belle asked, disbelief in her voice. “What are you talking about? Have you not even been trying?”
“Trying to do what?” Swift Foot asked. “Destabilise one of the companies under your command?”
“I can defend the kingdom without the Myrmidons,” Terri-Belle snapped.
“They’re the best force you have in hand, and you know that,” Swift Foot insisted. “They have more combat experience, they have Jaune’s tactical savvy, they have Pyrrha-”
“Pyrrha Nikos is exactly why you were sent into that house in the first place,” Terri-Belle interrupted, as though Swift Foot could have forgotten. “Pyrrha Nikos-”
“Is not our enemy,” Swift Foot interrupted in turn. “She is a loyal servant of Mistral-”
“That is not the same thing as serving our father,” Terri-Belle countered.
“Perhaps if our father thought more of serving Mistral than of himself, then he wouldn’t be worrying more about Mistral’s greatest warrior than about the dangers and the enemies that throng about it,” Swift Foot countered right back.
Terri-Belle glared at her, jaw clenched, her eyes blazing with anger… but also with guilt, as well. She looked away, her hands clenching into fists. “You’re an insolent little brat, you know that?”
“I’m speaking the truth,” Swift Foot said quietly. “That can sometimes be uncomfortable.”
Terri-Belle snorted. “I am not blind to our failings with regards to the defence of this kingdom, believe me. We should have gone out to fight for our people, regardless of the risk. It might even have reduced the risk by giving people someone besides Pyrrha to fawn upon. But all the same… you are not a Myrmidon, don’t forget that.”
“Why not?” Swift Foot asked. “I have pledged my sword to Pyrrha Nikos; I have fought alongside her and her comrades.”
“Because our father sent you there to spy on her,” Terri-Belle reminded her. “You told us that she was the Fall Maiden.”
“That she has more power than we thought doesn’t make her dangerous.”
“Power in the wrong hands is always dangerous.”
“And who decides who the wrong hands are?” Swift Foot demanded. “Father? You?”
“Why not Father, why not the Steward of Mistral?”
“The Steward appointed by the Emperor, to handle his affairs in his absence,” Swift Foot reminded.
“Mistral has no Emperor,” Terri-Belle growled. “Mistral needs no Emperor.” She placed a heavy hand upon Swift Foot’s shoulder. “Is that what she has done to you? Has she converted you to her cause?”
“It’s not her cause,” Swift Foot insisted, trying and failing to shrug off her elder sister’s grip. “She does not desire the throne, only to help her kingdom and defend her people. But for that reason, out of all the people who would crown themselves as master of the city if they could… I think that she might be the only one who actually deserves it.
“This is Mistral, sister,” Swift Foot continued. “We are the first and eldest of the realms of men, and what have we done with it? Father’s rule fails, and our people lose hope-”
“Then I will set it right!” Terri-Belle snarled. “I do not need Pyrrha Nikos, last of a house long bereft of lordship, to usurp my place.”
Swift Foot shook her head. “The fact that you talk this way… we could be so much more than the nation of petty politics we have become. Across the four kingdoms, our warriors are renowned as the most valiant in Remnant, but the best of them seek out Beacon or Atlas to be trained, while here in Mistral, we squabble for titles and advantages, counting our privileges dearer than the lives of our people. But in Pyrrha… in her, the valour of the Mistral of old, the Mistral that we invoke in our pride but whose spirit we abandoned long ago, lives again.”
“You would use her as a puppet?” Terri-Belle asked. “To put her who does not seek the throne upon it and then use her-”
“No!” Swift Foot cried. “The fact that you can say that… please, Terri-Belle, listen to me. Pyrrha… she has inspired me in ways that I never thought possible. I think it only right that she has the chance to inspire the rest of Mistral too.”
Terri-Belle released her grip on Swift Foot’s shoulder. She took a step back, staring at her as though she didn’t know her anymore. “I…” she began. “Swift Foot, I…” She rubbed the bridge of her nose with one hand. “I don’t know whether to yell at you or embrace you or both.”
“Um… I’d understand the first one a little more,” Swift Foot suggested hesitantly.
“The valour of Mistral of old,” Terri-Belle muttered, shaking her head. “You sound… you sound absolutely ridiculous… but at the same time, it is a nonsense in which I wish that I could share, because the worst part is you’re not even wrong. We are… fallen from the lofty heights of our forefathers. It has been easy to blame Lionheart when the truth is that we cannot be the warriors our forefathers were because we are not the men. We are… less.”
“We can be more,” Swift Foot urged. “We can become more, become what our forefathers were, if we wish to.”
“Under Pyrrha’s leadership?”
“I believe in her,” Swift Foot said, “and so do those who follow in her path. Not follow her to the crown, but to glory. To the glory that comes from virtue and service, not from seeking desperately after honours.”
“My service is owed to Father, not to Pyrrha Nikos,” Terri-Belle declared, “and my glory will come from serving him.” She paused. “Do you know anything about any other forms of magic than that which Pyrrha has in her possession?”
“No,” Swift Foot said.
Terri-Belle nodded. “I will tell father that you… are no longer of use to him in his purposes. You should probably tell Pyrrha the truth, before Father tells her to spite you. Tell her the truth and hope that she is as merciful as she is virtuous.”
Swift Foot frowned. “What are you saying?”
“My service is owed to our father,” Terri-Belle repeated with what sounded like a note of loss and melancholy, “but yours is to Pyrrha Nikos now. As you said, you have pledged your sword to her. And though you did not mean your pledge when you made it, it seems as though you mean it now.”
Swift Foot felt her mouth hang open just a little. “Are… are you-?”
“I release you from your service to the Steward and to me,” Terri-Belle informed her. “Now go, return to the House of Nikos. I do not think you will be welcome here much longer.”
Swift Foot… she hardly knew what to say. She stared at her sister in grateful disbelief. She had not expected Terri-Belle to take it so well. She had expected… she had feared a few things, but not this. “You… you are a woman of honour in your own right, sister; do not forget that.”
“Go,” Terri-Belle growled, as she turned her back on her youngest sister. “This place is no longer home to you in truth, as well as in fiction.”
“Of course,” Swift Foot whispered. It was not much of a wrench, hardly one at all, in point of fact. This place had rarely felt like a home to her; in fact, in the short time that she had been there, Pyrrha’s house had felt like far more of one than this cold palace ever had. There was more feeling of home to be found in Pyrrha’s courtesy, in Nora’s laughter, in Ditzy’s simple goodness than there was in her father’s brooding self-importance, in the mockery of Shining Light and Blonn Di, in the sense of ambition and paranoia that lay in the corridors like a bad smell. “Goodbye, Lady Terri-Belle.”
“Farewell,” Terri-Belle grunted. “Little sister.”
“Lady Pyrrha,” Lady Ming said as she approached Pyrrha through the press, “all alone?”
“For the moment, my lady,” Pyrrha acknowledged. Jaune had still not returned from speaking with Camilla, her mother had been drawn off by Councillor Ward, and Swift Foot was yet wherever she had disappeared to.
“Well, at least it gives us a chance to talk,” Lady Ming said, She was a woman of average height, with black hair arranged in a tight beehive with gilded needles protruding from out of it, dressed in a traditional qipao of fiery red, with a pattern of golden lotus flowers worked upon it. Her lips were painted in a deep shade of rouge. “I feel as though I owe you an apology, Lady Pyrrha. I would never have expected you to bend your back and submit your forces to serve the Council. I find myself forced to confess that I may have misjudged your intentions.”
“You were not alone in that misjudgement, my lady,” Pyrrha replied, inclining her head in gracious acceptance of the apology, “but I swear to you, in this place so redolent with the history of our kingdom, that I have never desired anything but to serve this kingdom to the best of my ability.”
Lady Ming looked into Pyrrha’s eyes. Her own eyes were a hazel colour which verged upon gold. “You must admit, Lady Pyrrha, that such ringing declarations sound a little odd transported from out of song and story and into the reality of these times.”
“You may find me strange if you wish, my lady, so long as you acknowledge that I am sincere.”
“I am open to the possibility,” Lady Ming accepted, “so long as you accept that I, too, wish only what is best for Mistral.”
“I am also open to the possibility,” Pyrrha conceded. “Although it is my turn to confess that I cannot see how a war with Atlas will help our kingdom. You cannot think that we would win?”
“Does the Champion of Mistral think so little of the valour of Mistral?” Lady Ming asked. “Do you think that you and yours are the only gallant hearts left in this kingdom?”
“Rather, I have seen too much of the Atlesian forces to underestimate them,” Pyrrha replied. “At the risk of sounding too much like Turnus, their unity of purpose lends them a strength I fear we could not match.”
“Their armies are formidable,” Lady Ming accepted. “Hence our offer to the bandit tribes: a trained, equipped, and seasoned nucleus for a new army.”
Pyrrha frowned. “An army which would still not stand a volley against General Ironwood’s troops, I think. Even if they were willing to fight for us, a fact of which I… have yet to be convinced.”
“Now you underestimate the strength of these cut-throats we are gathering to our banner,” Lady Ming said.
“Or you are overestimating their loyalty to Mistral, my lady,” Pyrrha countered. “Why should they fight a war for us?”
“I think they will do a great deal to maintain the lands that we have granted to them,” Lady Ming said. “Once the situation in the interior is stabilised, we will be free to alter the terms of our agreement with them to encompass military service in exchange for the continued possession of their territories.”
“That… hardly seems honourable, my lady,” Pyrrha said. “To menace those who have kept the terms agreed until they, under duress, agree new and less forgiving terms.”
“They are bandits,” Lady Ming said dismissively. “What honour do we owe them?”
Do we not owe it to ourselves to deal fairly with all those with whom we make such bargains? Pyrrha thought. “Can honour be honour if it is so… situational?”
Lady Ming chuckled. “I can see why your followers, and the people who cheer for you, find your virtue inspiring. There is something marvellous about so blunt a view of the world, but to succeed in politics, one must often be willing to be more flexible with these things.” She paused. “However, I did not approach you to lecture you upon such things, but to ask a favour from you.”
“A favour?” Pyrrha repeated. “I fear you will have to name it, my lady.”
“As you are no doubt aware, my own forces have been a little less successful than your own,” Lady Ming said.
“I have been very fortunate that so many skilled young huntsmen, trained to face the grimm, have been willing to fight with me,” Pyrrha said diplomatically.
“There is no need for modesty, Lady Pyrrha; you may imply your skill at arms has something to do with it.”
“I would rather be immodest on my betrothed’s behalf, my lady; his strategies are the key to our success.”
“My captain, Kurt, believes otherwise,” Lady Ming said. “I must ask you if you would be willing to lend me Arslan Altan to bolster up our strength. She and Kurt are well-acquainted, and Kurt asked for her specifically.”
“Arslan is a valiant woman,” Pyrrha agreed. “I am not her master, to command her to go, but I will speak to her and ask her to agree to this.” She paused. “Do I pass the test, my lady?”
Lady Ming chuckled. “That depends somewhat on the answer of Miss Altan. Now, do you wish to meet some of these brigands we are recruiting to manage our kingdom?”
Pyrrha did not, particularly, but she supposed that she ought to regardless. If nothing else, it would help her to know what she was up against if the worst came to the worst. “Thank you, my lady; that is most kind of you.”
Lady Ming led her through the party to where a trio of people, more roughly dressed than most by quite some distance, were standing, alone together, as the party moved around them. They wore matching cloaks of raven feathers, each black as the night, with thick collars that made their shoulders seem large and bulky, before the capes descended to pool upon the floor around their feet. They were led by a mature woman with pale skin and wild raven hair, dressed in lamellar armour as red as her eyes, accented in black that became visible as one gauntleted arm emerged to pull back one side of her cloak.
“Pyrrha Nikos,” Lady Ming said, “allow me to present Raven Branwen, the first bandit chief to accept our terms.”
Branwen? But then, that means- Pyrrha’s eyes were drawn to the figure behind Raven Branwen, to the familiar mane of golden hair stretching down below her waist. It couldn’t be… and yet, those purple eyes proclaimed that it was, without a doubt…
“Yang?”